The Boatman's Gift
by thekillerdynamo
Summary: Orihime needs to discover many things about herself to save herself and her friends from Hueco Mundo. Ulquiorra is the key. What is Hime truly capable of? Ori-centric, spoilers galore up to current manga chapters, character death. Guest-star: Ishida!


_Bleach is property of Kubo Tite, Shounen Weekly, whatever media company in Japan owns the publishing rights, Studio Pierrot, and lots of other people who aren't me. I make no profit from this—only the emotional gain from wishful thinking! My life is a lie._

_This story is based heavily on the Tanabata myth. All you pretty much need to know to get it, however, is that when the Weaver-Princess Orihime finds the way to meet her lover is flooded, sometimes when it rains magpies help carry her over. At other times a boatman ferries her. And guess what? Ulquiorra's last name Schiffer is German for 'boatman'. I basically took that connection and went to town. Enjoy._

**The Boatman's Gift**

By TKD

Running, running, running; how far had they been running? Orihime could not tell. Only the frantic beats of her heart gave her any sense of temporal or spatial grounding and they were too crazily rapid now to interpret. The sounds of everyone else's rapid flight blurred and melded into an incomprehensible mush in her ears. Each breath she took as she tried to keep her lungs drawing in deep, even gulps of air burned as it whipped down. She had to keep up. She must not be left behind.

Perhaps the last fear was unfounded, for Orihime could feel Ishida-kun flanking her on her right side, his nearer hand hovering close under her swaying elbow; she could sense his high-pitched anticipation to swoop her back up onto her feet if she stumbled, or to grasp her hand to pull her if her numbly aching feet began to lag. Running to her left was Sado-kun, and she had no doubt that if needed he would be ready to help her in an instant as well. Ahead of them, Kurosaki-kun's red thatch of hair bobbed like a guiding beacon.

It was only the four of them now. After everyone had been regrouped by the other Shinigami captains, a bit of trouble had split them apart. Orihime had been horrified to find Ishida, missing his stomach and bloodied, and Renji, hardly better off, under the care of the two Kurotsuchis. She had been so upset to see them in such pain that Orihime, unthinking, had run ahead of the group and activated her Souten Kisshun.

Because as she focused her shield on healing the two, and then healing the others despite Unohana's previous treatment, Orihime had not been unaware of the stir her presence had created among their last-minute saviors. Captain Kurotsuchi had pointed one of those black fingernails at her and insisted that they take her back right away to stand trial as a traitor to Soul Society. Captain Kuchiki had simply shrugged and declared he'd have no part in the argument. Unohana then protested against the idea of just dragging the girl off without any prior questioning at all. She had been sure things would have come to blows—everyone had been shouting at each other. The subject of the renegade Desert Brothers and Nel and Grimmjow's status came up in the argument, which only served to confuse emotions further. Zaraki, despite needing to be healed from the wreck of wounds his own fight with the patched-eyed Arrancar (Nnoitra, she remembered he had been called) had gotten him, was challenging both Kurotsuchi while insulting Grimmjow's battle prowess—the Espada had not taken kindly to that.

What had really set the stack of matches ablaze, however, was when Nemu had refused Mayuri's command to apprehend either Orihime or any Desert Brother. Orihime still had been in the process of undoing the damage to Nemu's insides—just thinking of what Szayel had done to the poor woman had chilled Orihime so that her hands were shaking a little—and Mayuri had gone utterly ballistic, just like he always did whenever any of his subordinates challenged his authority. She had been almost dead certain that Aizen wouldn't need to send anyone else after them; they were all doing too good a job of breaking their own ranks. And right in the middle of Hueco Mundo, no less! She bet Aizen was just watching and laughing at them, getting a kick out of the whole thing. Maybe he'd be so amused he'd let them go. He could be perverse like that.

In the end, Unohana and Zaraki managed to quite forcibly veto all of Kurotsuchi's complaints. Unohana only expressed the wish that she didn't have to go through the trouble of fixing Mayrui's legs when they returned. They then ordered Renji and Rukia to help escort both Grimmjow and the Desert Brothers back to the Seireitei—it was a rowdy bunch and they needed the extra help. For some reason Byakuya had been particularly insistent on Rukia's help. Orihime only hoped that it stemmed from a new sense of trust and confidence for his sister. The thought made her smile a little. The whole former feud with Byakuya seemed to strange to her. Brothers and sisters needed to love one another—especially when they had no one else close in the family.

Neither Rukia nor Renji had liked having to split up the group, but Ichigo assured them that it would be a small matter to escape on their own. If Aizen had wanted to prevent them all from leaving, he would have done so by this time, especially with all their arguing. It seemed he was letting them go for now. Orihime knew Aizen's true nature too well enough now to think that the man was having any sort of mercy and pity on their ragtag group. It did not feel like the end. No final cards had been played on his end. And if anything, she knew that Aizen loved to tease and prolong the game. The sense of hope they were all enjoying was probably part of another cruel scheme of his, but everyone was desperate to take it.

And so here they were, running back home, Ichigo leading the way. He sometimes glanced back at the other three to check their progress and yell at the boys to hurry the hell up.

She would have liked him to look at her a little more often, but Kurosaki-kun's attention was diverted more to the others. She had never wanted to make things hard for him. Yet here he was, sometimes deliberately sparring words with Ishida-kun while they ran hell-bent just like it was the most natural thing in the world. When he did look at her it was with concern and care, but—when compared with the way he always looked at Kuchiki-san now, always so consistently—

Orihime was convinced now that she simply had no luck. She wondered if she would ever get what she really wanted.

Was it perhaps too much to ask? Was she truly so powerless? Or maybe it was something else she had done wrong.

Her melancholy thoughts screeched along to a halt along with her body as Ishida-kun suddenly drew back hard on her elbow. His fingers clutched her arm tightly.

"Stop."

She wanted to kick herself. It had not been terribly long, but the past events had seemed like such an eternity that Orihime had let her memory be lulled into carelessness. How could she not have expected this?

Ulquiorra, having escaped the Negacion field, let his aura crackle subtly all around him. His fingers grasped the hilt of his sword, eager for slaughter.

"You will go no further. You, woman, will let me escort you back to your chambers. I will have to report this treachery to Aizen-sama. You have betrayed his trust. As for the rest of you--" His eyes, so dull and yet so vivid, languidly regarded her other companions with disinterest that only lightened when landing on Ichigo. "You will all die here. No one touches what is Aizen-sama's and goes unpunished."

"She's not his," Ishida's equally cool voice snapped. "Inoue-san belongs to no one."

"Spare me," Ulquiorra intoned over a small puff of breath; his eyes closed for one moment, only a flicker of time, but when they opened again the green seemed so much deeper and darker with purpose. Orihime's throat constricted—she knew what that look entailed too well. And she knew that Ulquiorra was powerful. Even with the three—no, she must count herself, the four—of them, there was a good chance that even Kurosaki-kun wouldn't be able to hold out. They were all simply incapable of any more prolonged bouts of violence.

Was this to be how it all ended? Despite all their suffering, despite everything that her friends had gone through, the pain and wounds and mental trauma and the sheer bravery it had cost to even come to this horrible place, all on her account, would all her friends still die?

She had wanted to save them from this. She had not let herself be taken to Las Noches to see her friends slaughtered. This was the cruel twist she had been dreading.

The air was sludgy and cool. Orihime felt her grasp on time slipping away and saw the movements of the veins in everyone's necks twinge with almost imperceptible motion. There was so little time left to collect her thoughts; she needed to get to Ulquiorra before he could move, for he was so much faster than everyone else that he could overwhelm the others if he struck with his usual efficiency. She tried to break away and get in front of the group, but Ishida's fingers refused to unhand her.

"Ishida-kun! Let me go! Kurosaki-kun—he's too worn out now. He means it; he can kill you all. Please!" She turned her face to Ulquiorra. "Ulquiorra-san—"

His placid and sad eyes were on the whole inscrutable, yet with the passage of various interactions with him had allowed Orihime the chance to catch the occasional ripple of emotion in them. Ulquiorra was quite satisfied with himself and with her own situation in this horrible moment.

"Be quiet. Are you going to plead for their lives? They are no match for Aizen-sama yet and no threats to him now, but you are in sore need of correction, woman. Have you learned anything at all since you came here? Do you still not know what you are dealing with? Do you think I would let my prey—all of you—escape when I have the chance right now to end it?" The ripple passed and his eyes frosted over. "Such ignorance disgusts me. You have a long way to go. Let me teach you. Aizen-sama does not care. And I do not think--"

While Ulquiorra's eyes passed over her friends in deliberation as to which one would fall first, her friends so rattled and wearied with non-stop fighting. "—I do not think your friends care either. When I told Kurosaki there about the small woman's fight with the Ninth Espada, he was ready to drop everything to go to her. Here, you were at least given some regard. But with that boy, you take no precedence."

She saw Kurosaki-kun's face twitch with guilt. She knew that Ulquiorra was not lying.

Something inside Orihime finally gave way. She gasped for air; her chest was burning up and even the cool Las Noches winds scorched her skin. He was mocking her, always mocking her and playing with her friends for sport, just like every Arrancar in Hueco Mundo seemed to do. And no doubt Aizen was getting the biggest laugh out of all this than anyone. In this instant, she had never been angrier with them. She could still remember how Grimmjow had tied her up and gagged her, how Nnoitra's bony fingers nearly made her gag. Regard? The Arrancar never seemed more willing to humiliate her and her friends.

And her poor friends! With once glance she took the small group in. Orihime had remembered how sorry a state Ishida-kun and Renji-kun had been in when they met up again. And Kuchiki-san had been through the wringer as well, Kurosaki-kun was just awash in troubles (this she could sense), and then there had been that awful Kurotsuchi, whose very presence just had seemed so unjust to her.

Inequity-- she was surrounded by inequity! Aizen was a liar and a murderer and a cheat, and Soul Society could not fix itself—they still had people like Mayuri, after all, and its rules just did not make sense to her. It all seemed too unfair.

Now her friends were going to be butchered here, all for her sake, if she did not do something. There was no time to think. Orihime knew that action was critical. She could not, must not fail.

And then she resolved, her lips thinning and eyes hooding: she would not fail.

For many years, from the day her brother died after the argument over her hairpins, she had been afraid of her anger. No good had seemed to ever come out of it. With Sora's death, no matter how many times Tastuki-chan talked to her about it, Orihime had never been able to shake the twisted sense of causality her young brain had formed between the two events: genuine, hot anger had led to misery, loneliness, death. Maybe that was why she had always been rather intimidated and confused by Tsubaki, much as she liked the angry, semi-abusive little fellow . . . but now she understood. Only one more person needed to die today; the others would be saved. She could bear this anger. She would use it as it was finally meant to be used and she would not let Tsubaki get hurt again.

Two times before she had shot Tsubaki and two times he had been injured; this third go would not miss.

Ulquiorra had moved his foot one half pace when her voice suddenly split the air. He whirled to face her words.

"You stop right there!" Orihime trembled with the effort of keeping the fire inside until it was just at the right boiling point—the heat needed to be exactly right before she let it consume her for one blazing second. "I'm tired of this place, tired of you, tired of Aizen, and I'm tired of you people hurting my precious friends! It ends right here!" Her eyes narrowed and there came a flash from over her ear, causing her to close her eyes. Ulquiorra seemed surprised but not very alarmed at when he presumed was coming.

"I reject!"

There was a horrible squelching sound; something spattered her face; a sickening smell of something metallic but not coppery like normal blood; perhaps what made her stomach lurch most of all was the dull pressure against her palms, her arms heavy with the effort of hoisting dead weight. Ulquiorra was not able to support himself. Her eyes were still closed but Orihime simply _knew_ that at last, at last she had hit true. Tsubaki's weight settled back into the hair over her temple.

The thought brought her no joy or satisfaction. She was only relieved that her feisty spirit manifestation had not been injured or broken into a thousand bits this time.

Ulquiorra deserved to have her look him in the eyes and see what she had done—Orihime thought she owed him at least that much. She had seen how the other Arrancars and Espada treated those weaker than themselves and Ulquiorra had treated her right decently compared with what might have been offered her. He had tormented her, insulted her friends, threatened to force-feed her, but he had never laid a violent hand on her, even after she had slapped him.

Had it been leading up to this moment all along? From the very first time he had confronted her, there had been a pull that had seized her when around him. It had not been fear. She didn't know what the pull had been that kept her somehow tied to this small Arrancar, but it had not been true fear. She had known she should have been afraid.

But it hadn't been so.

Time had begun to resume its normal flow. But it had not fully shifted back, and so when Orihime opened her eyes the brief glimmer of shock, surprise, and some other emotion that lightened Ulquiorra's eyes was drawn out painfully, unbearably long as he slid a little further down towards the ground, one hand going up idly to cup his injury. It was an odd sight, since he had not been split in two for some reason. Rather, Tsubaki had punched a hole clean through that bone-white chest. The wound gaped, the gushing blood between his fingers hissed and sizzled upon contact with the gritty sand, and the smell of whatever served as Ulquiorra's blood as it evaporated reminded her of the hot tar of a newly paved street.

Ulquiorra himself was eyeing the blood spatters with detached interest, even as he struggled to get to his feet.

"I did not think you could do such a thing. Truly I did not think you would. But I see now that I underestimated you; everyone did, it seems." Ulquiorra's voice was weak but retained its even, nonchalant timbre, as if his own slow death were of no more import than talking about the weather.

All of a sudden panic entered into his eyes, reflecting Orihime's own reaction. She had never seen that look on him, not ever.

He turned his head, the horn of his helmet cracking off and the rest of the bone quickly splitting apart like an eggshell. His hair shone in the dull web of the Las Noches moonlight. Its glossy blackness shone like a raven's wing. Ulquiorra suddenly looked more panicked than she ever had seen him, face impassive but his eyes widening as his pale fingers with their dark nails grasped at the hole, now leaking a little blood itself, at his neck. She swore the hole had taken up more space at his throat before.

"What have you done to me, woman? What is this power? You are killing me." His voice hitched only once. "I feel like I'm splitting apart from the inside out."

"It's not me," Orihime whispered past the tears threatening to overwhelm her, her hand trembling as she reached to stroke his hair. She had not thought it would be so painful for him. She hadn't wanted him to make him suffer this much, never in a million years; why had she not foreseen this? Was his power so great that Tsubaki worked more slowly, agonizingly slowly, on his being? It was too cruel. A zanpaktou to his neck would have been so much more humane. "I hit you with Tsubaki. You—you should have been split in two. I didn't mean for this to happen."

"I have ruined your dress. Pity. It did suit you so well," he murmured, words thicker now as some of his strange ichor dribbled from the corner of his mouth. He looked at her stained skirts and bodice with what Orihime thought was a disappointed, critical eye. Ulquiorra really had not liked messes that much.

"I'm sorry. And I ruined your nice white clothes too," she said. He had collapsed onto his knees now. Without a thought Orihime drew him to her and rested his head on her lap. She bent over him, the cloth covering her knees and thighs cracked and dried with blood—she wondered where all the brightness and the magic of the world had gone.

Would it ever return?

"It doesn't matter," Ulquiorra coughed lightly, his voice mellowed with the slightest note of triumph. "Either way, I have taught you a valuable lesson. You have no more excuses now."

Before she could ask what he meant, the other three had encircled them. They were shouting at her to leave the Arrancar behind and resume running. They probably thought she was crazy. She didn't feel too sane herself.

Orihime was so tired of running. She didn't think her legs could take another step. But she did not feel like being carried out of there the whole way either.

"I'm getting us all out of here—right now!" she cried. In her desperation and fever, Orihime reached out into the mental space where the other Shun Shun Rikka members dwelt and she called out for their help. Immediately the rest of the little spirits popped out, hovering near her head to demand how they could help, what the orders were.

Without any premeditation Orihime issued this command: that they all six work in tandem to open a hole through the barrier between Hueco Mundo and the Living World. It would be the quickest way for them to retreat; they had so little time. None of them knew if another, higher ranked Espada would be coming or even Aizen himself (though Orihime somehow doubted that). Even Kurosaki-kun, let alone the other humans, had hit the wall of exhaustion.

"What are you saying we should do?" Lily wailed in protest. "All six of us? How does that work?"

"Calm down and focus!" came Hinagiku's snap. "I have some idea of what she needs us to do. It's perhaps nothing we're used to, but with proper direction there's no reason why we can't pull it off."

"I still don't get what she wants us all out here for. Sounds complicated." Baigon was placid and still a little sleepy. How he could manage to still be like that in this situation Orihime had no idea.

"Shut your yaps and let the woman talk," roared Tsubaki. Orihime was so overwhelmed by now that she felt shaky and on the verge of a panic attack before Shun'ou and Ayame whispered in her ear.

"We'll trust you to guide us," said Ayame.

Shun'ou finished: "I'll have everyone unleash their full powers and the rest is up to you."

Her eyes turned towards and rested on Ichigo, who was gaping back at her. She would have liked for him to give her a little more to go on, some kind of support, but she supposed he was having a little trouble grasping what was going on. Chad and Ishida looked at her with less outright dismay, yet neither looked particularly good either. They were all at the end of their ropes.

"Hey! Stop mooning over that prune-faced pantywaist and pay attention to _me,_" Tsubaki groused; only he had the testosterone-fueled brashness to consider Kurosaki-kun a 'pantywaist'. "And by me, I'm also referring to _you yourself, _woman! Do you think you have the_mujer_-_cojones_ to let me do my job—_our _job? I thought we were in for a breakthrough…will you ever listen to me? I got that clown Espada over there; we can certainly do whatever the hell it is you wan us to do as long as you STOP RELYING ON THAT TWERP AND GET US OUT OF HERE."

Her ears ringing, with a nod to Tsubaki and what she prayed was a reassuring smile to her other friends—who looked none too confident or hopeful about their prospects and perhaps even Orihime's own sanity—she stood up, letting Ulquiorra's head fall to the ground, and linked her fingers together, catching the trails of each spirits' power and crossing them, twisting them in a mesh of different spatial energies. When she had caught them all and arranged them how she wanted, even though Orihime really had no clue what she was really attempting to do at this point, she broke her fingers apart and let the power-threads she had caught fly off, slicing through the very fabric of Hueco Mundo.

The ground between her and her friends in a single instant fell away in a hollowed out circle, as if she had ripped apart the warp and woof of space to reveal the entrance to a blue-skied world. It almost immediately began to shrink in circumference, the physics of the Hollow world making an attempt to repair itself.

It may have been the sudden light-headedness seizing her, but Orihime could swear she could detect the sweeter Living World air,

"Holy shit, Inoue, what's that?" Ichigo hefted his zanpakutou in the circle's direction.

"A way back," she responded. Orihime felt the spirits, drained but seeming very happy (Tsubaki looked particularly proud of himself) return to her hairpins and she had to sink down to her knees. Her legs refused to support her any longer. "It's the only way through. Please, Kurosaki-kun, let's just get out of here! I'm too tired to make another one if this one closes up. Everyone, go through!"

Orihime struggled to clamber to her feet. She could not make it. She only wanted to lay her head down on the ground and rest. Then she was floating in mid air for the briefest second, and then she found herself hoisted up in Ishida-kun's arms. He panted with the effort; she could feel his arms tremble slightly with the effort to bear her weight. Yet when he quickly told her, "Hold on, Inoue-san, it's faster this way. Move it, Kurosaki!"

The two others moved along with them, but looking back Orihime screamed. Ulquiorra was still on the ground, his face turned away from them, the red stain spreading across his chest. Even from a distance Orihime saw his chest convulsing silently.

She could not bear it.

"Don't leave him! Someone, pick him up and take him with us!"

"Inoue, what the hell—" Ichigo began, yet Chad once more precluded any arguments in the critical moment. Without a word he reached over and down, dragged the small Arrancar up on his back, and nodded to Ishida.

After her porter had slipped through the opening, Orihime felt that they were all presently going through freefall. Blue and white where everywhere. Ichigo was shouting that they all needed to get to the Urahara shop, which caused Ishida to shout back that Sado could not make the same time they could.

"I won't leave him behind," Orihime shouted back. Her hair whipped in the breeze where not provided proper cover by Ishida's body and she could see very little now. His arms were gripping her more tightly, it seemed, with every word.

"Oh fine, give him to me, Chad," Ichigo grunted. "You're both unwieldy as hell, but I'll get you to the ground. Then I'll take you both along with us to Urahara's."

In a crazy moment Orihime wished she could watch Kurosaki-kun jump through the hoops of balancing his zanpakutou, Sado-kun, and one medium-sized Arrancar, but the memory of Ulquiorra lying in the desert sand prevented her from whimsy. And then Ishida was moving along so quickly that the girl had not time to think about anything.

They all plummeted down to the earth.

----

Upon their swift arrival at the Urahara shop, neither Yoruichi nor the proprietor himself acted particularly alarmed when Ishida arrived at their front lawn, precious cargo in tow. Even Chad being balanced on Ichigo's shoulders did not receive any remarks beyond "Helloooo young fellows and lady, it is good to see you!" before he flicked his fan shut and pointed it at the white form slung across Ichigo's forearms.

"Now that wasn't something we were expecting," he murmured.

"Ichigo," Yoruichi sighed, "do you mind telling us why you have a wounded Arrancar with you?"

"Not wounded, by the looks of it. More like he's dying. He's the one who gave us some trouble a while back, isn't it? The small Arrancar? You're not trying to save _another _one, are you, Kurosaki-san? Because that other former Espada and her little entourage that Kuchiki-san and Abarai-san brought here are _quite enough_, thank you. I put my foot down at housing that Sexta Espada, I'll tell you. Soul Society can have him."

"Rukia's here? They made it safely?" she heard Kurosaki-kun ask. Orihime couldn't bring herself to feel anything beyond her own exhaustion.

"Will someone please answer the question," came the snarl; Yoruichi did not sound amused. "Someone tell me why the bloody hell the Arrancar is here before I smash in someone's head."

Orihime managed to lift her head from resting against Ishida's shoulder so she could explain: "I wanted them to bring him here, Yoruichi-sand. I—I shot him with Tsubaki and it's not working like I thought it would. I don't know what's going on." If she were not so tired now she might be sniffling or already bursting into tears.

"She's exhausted. We can talk later, but Inoue-san really needs to rest. We're all tired, Urahara-san," Ishida insisted. She was only glad that it was enough to get Urahara-san in motion. He brightly informed them that it was very fortunate indeed that he had been expanding his shop with more storage rooms; they would set for the night where they could, get rest, and deal with Soul Society matters in the morning.

"No doubt the other captains have reported what you all did in Las Noches to Yama-ji," Urahara chirped on as he led the way. "If he were any less a commander, he'd be shitting a brick right now, I'd wager. But happily for us, I doubt we'll be having any more Shinigami waltzing around this place today. Such a big a mess for everyone to clear up, yes, yes!"

Orihime jostled along with the movements of Ishida-kun's body, each step he took bringing a twinge to her head. A few steps later through the front door and she distantly heard the none-too-orderly reunion blossoming all around them. Urahara-san ordered Tessai to take Chad's burden from Kurosaki-kun's shoulders and put him in another room to recover. Renji, Rukia, and the Desert Brothers were haranguing Ichigo with questions and adding details. Normally Orihime would have welcomed the noises of a homecoming but her head and chest ached too much for her to care. Talk of Mayuri and Szayel's lab and a Kaien doppelganger Espada were quite beyond her ken. It would be nice just to slink by and lie down on some cool bedding for a while.

Then Orihime felt a presence hovering near, right under nose. She cracked open one eye to see Kuchiki-san standing right behind Ishida, her attention directed to the face propped against his shoulder. "Inoue? She's not hurt, is she?"

"She's fine. Just tired. She had to expend a lot of her power to get us out of there and she needs to recuperate," Ishida explained with all patience. Renji repeated the earlier question of why an Arrancar had been carried in as well, to which Urahara only flipped his fan in dismissal.

"Later, later," he said. "Rest first, talk later, all of you! Now if you'll just follow me, Ishida-san, we'll put Inoue-san in a nice place. I even have some sleeping pills if she needs them." Orihime shuddered a little at the thought—Urahara was notorious for forgetting which items had true expiration dates and which ones he had altered for longer shelf life.

"What about the Arrancar, Manager?" Tessai asked. "Should we try to interrogate him before he dies?"

"No need, no need. I don't think we would get much out of him, anyway. He won't last long enough. I honestly don't see why Inoue-chan insisted on bringing him back here. Do you have any idea, Ishida-kun?"

Ishida's negating grunt made the fabric over his chest and shoulders hum as the movements resumed once more. The three of them who walked—no, Orihime corrected herself again as she listened with more care, four, why did she always forget someone—passed through a brief series of doors, the commotion in the Urahara front rooms muted. There was a final sliding of a rice-paper door. The shopkeeper directed Ishida to set down their erstwhile abducted friend on the futon and cover her up warmly. "And Tessai, you take the Arrancar to another room—"

Orihime's neck ached with the continuous efforts of lifting up her head to talk more clearly. "No. Leave him with me; I don't want him anywhere else."

Everyone, which included Kuchiki-san (the mysterious fourth pair of feet), regarded her and did not respond for a space. Urahara's easy smile breezed through the stalemate.

"Now, Inoue-san," he began, "it's very natural for someone who has been abducted not to want to be left alone, but your current choice of companion won't be very pleasant company, I think. If you like, I can have Yoruichi sit with you."

"Why can't I do it?" Ishida protested, the beginnings of resistance evident. Hands and arms shifted to strengthen their grasp around her.

"Because we need to detox you, Ishida-kun! I was told what Mayuri did to you. Nasty stuff. Typical of him. But I'm sure that I counteract those little buggers he implanted inside you and get rid of them. Jinta might have to beat them out of you, but—"

"I want to be left alone with Ulquiorra-san," Orihime reiterated; her voice came out much stronger this time. Everyone was staring at her again except for Ulquiorra himself, dwarfed as he was in Tessai's meaty arms. Urahara just clucked his tongue.

"I told you, Inoue-san, I don't think it's a good idea—ah! Cripes!" Rukia had just given the man a good, swift kick to the pants. Orihime could not help the surge of helpless admiration at the petite lady's poise, presence, and kicking ability. Rukia jabbed her pointer finger at the large, fluffy futon and covers that lay upon the tatami mats.

"Stop it, Urahara. Just put her down and do as she says. Inoue knows what she wants. And the rest of you, shoo! Go get de-bacteria-ed, Ishida. Tessai, you put him down next to her"—a pause as Rukia considered—"but not too close. And we need to do something about that bleeding so it doesn't get all over her."

That promoted the first words Ulquiorra spoke ever since his arrival; they were clipped in his haggard breath but as cold as ever. "Don't touch me, trash. I have hardly any blood left in me. Don't worry about your damned bedding. Her dress is already ruined anyway."

If there were any protests on the horizon, Orihime assumed that Kuchiki-san just blew them away with one disapproving gaze when Ishida-kun finally lowered her down on the futon. Orihime gazed up at him and tried to smile, but then Kuchiki's face obscured him as she scooted him out of the way. Her busy little hands tucked in the two patients with authority while Tessai and Urahara, prompted by another glare, half-dragged Ishida out of the room. Orihime sighed, her back aching against the feather-stuffed support the futon provided.

The pillows could get no fluffier, so Rukia straightened back out, a smiled aimed down at the younger girl. Orihime felt a cool, small hand on her forehead.

"You did well, Inoue. I knew you could do it. And thank you for getting the others back so quickly. I'll leave you alone now; but if you need anything, anything at all, one of us will come running."

"Thank you," she whispered back; she had closed her eyes again, this time from a shamed sense. It seemed a crime and terrible flaw to have harbored jealousy towards Kuchiki-san. "I'm not going anywhere. Now I think you should go see if Kurosaki-kun is behaving himself and getting his own rest as well. You know how antsy he can get."

"Do I ever," came the delicate snort, which was followed by one last smile and a stroke to brush Orihime's long hair from her face and forehead. "It gets better, Inoue. I promise. Just rest. Sweet dreams."

Finally, the two of them were left alone.

----

Orihime could not close her eyes against the dreadful anticipation welling up inside her, so, exhausted as she was, she managed to turn on her side. Ulquiorra was there, right beside her, his presence somehow insubstantial but almost overwhelming all at once. His eyes were riveted onto a water spot on the ceiling, his fingers plucking at a loose piece of dried skin on his bottom lip. If he was in agony, his control over it remained exquisite.

She felt so sorry for him, sunken into the blankets as he was, and the girl could not turn her eyes away. This was the work of her own hands, the result of her own choice, and she would disrespect it. Ulquiorra deserved at least this much.

"I suppose," he said over a slight wheeze in his breath, which served to give his already mournful voice added melancholy. His words sounded like a tune in minor key. "I suppose that it's pointless to try and figure out why you have shamed me like this."

"I'm sorry," she whispered. By this point the whole look of the Arrancar was just—_off_. His skin had lost its supernatural sheen. She noticed half of his fingernails had taken on the normal shell color and were no longer black. His fading reiatsu was in such constant flux it was too much to try to keep up with it.

The bloody hole in this throat had closed up completely.

Some sort of fundamental change was at work here. It was as if her powers were unmaking Ulquiorra from the inside out. Was this a form of her rejection powers? She had not realized they could have such terrible, prolonged effects.

"Sorry. That's all you can say?" Ulquiorra closed his eyes. He plucked off another piece of skin from his lips and then gave up, letting his hand rest over his stomach. "You insult me. You think you can toy with me?"

She did her best to explain a rationale she did not understand herself.

"I didn't want you to die alone. I felt—I felt that you shouldn't have to go through that. It sounds too painful, dying alone. And I can't bear to see things like that happen. It's just the way I am. I wanted to make things easier for you, Ulquiorra-san." Her throat felt gagged; she had so much more she wanted to say and explain to him, but he had turned his pale face away. The tear marks on his face were faded now, barely visible, and if his skin had not been so grayish-white and smooth she probably would not know where to look to find them.

His head remained there, eyes fixed on the wall. "Foolish," he muttered. "You are a foolish woman. If you had any mercy on me, you would have left me there to die in the world of my birth or never have run away in the first place. My dearest wish has always been to die at the hands of Aizen-sama. Now look what you have reduced me to." His face soured and he spat out the following words like cracklings of fire. "There is no honor in this. You are destroying me little by little. I can feel it. I am not an Espada, not an Arrancar."

Underneath the covers Orihime scooted closer to him. As long as he was still here, with whatever left between them remaining unfinished, she would not leave him alone. "I'm sorry you think like that. But this is how it ended up. It won't be much longer, Ulquiorra-san. Soon you won't remember any of this. You'll go to Soul Society and they'll receive you there—and it's not a bad place. You'll see butterflies there and the sun shines there too, it's not always night there. Maybe you'll find a nice family to join with and they'll keep you company so you won't be lonesome. And your soul will be reborn again and again so you can experience so many wonderful things; I hope you won't ever have to become a hollow again. Why don't you at least try to sleep? I think you can do it now. Sleep, that is."

It was clear to her that Ulquiorra was desperately fighting to keep his eyes open—she had never seen his already heavy lids and dark eyebrows drawn so low on his face. His hands rustled under the sheets as if he were clenching them.

"Aizen-sama, in his wisdom, allowed us the ability to neither sleep nor dream if we wished. I never chose to. Dreams are false things." He cleared his throat with a scoff. "I came into your room to check on you when you slept sometimes. I heard you whisper the name of Kurosaki several times."

"And he came to help me," Orihime murmured back

"Is that all you dreamed of? His rescuing you? What did you dream about him before we took you? Before you knew better?" Ah, he was insistent. Orihime did not want to get the best of him just for the sake of winning, was tired of always arguing with him, yet she felt the desire not to simply roll over and admit that he was wrong. Because she knew that he was not totally incorrect.

"Perhaps," she answered back, "it is not the dream itself that's false, but the meaning we give to it."

Ulquiorra half-appeared about to laugh at that—the corner of his mouth twitched upwards. But he had never smiled since the moment she had laid on him and it looked clear that he was not going to start right now as he lay dying, his very Arrancar nature splitting apart. Instead he curled his legs a little in on himself. He looked almost like a child.

"At least I have one comfort in my shame," he whispered. "From now on, you will never hesitate. I have made a killer out of you. That is something you cannot cover up with your silly fantasies. Aizen-sama will be pleased. You and your friends will provide him much more sport next time. And then he will crush you and your damned mercy."

Orihime swallowed hard; she had to force back the tears. Instead she followed Rukia's earlier example and brushed her hand against Ulquiorra's soft hair. He did not flinch from the touch. Maybe he had no more strength to do so.

"Is there anything you want, Ulquiorra-san? I can call for someone to get you something to help you through this."

"My only desire now is to die."

She lay huddled against his back as the shallow-breathing skin dipped and rose next to her; coolness radiated from his skin and did not warm the blankets. With some hesitation Orihime rubbed her hands up his thin arms, up to the back of his shoulders and rubbed His skin was flushed in places and warm against her palms but underneath she felt him stave off shivers. His body was growing more rigid, so she moved her hands across his shoulders and arms. She didn't know why he was doing it; she doubted he was warming up any on the inside. After a few minutes his breathing did not become any deeper, but it had gained a constancy that indicated to her that he was drifting off into some other plane of consciousness. She did not know if he was truly asleep yet.

With caution, with caution she slipped her hands over his shoulders to rest on the front of his chest, her fingers interlocked at his sternum. Orihime did not dare press any closer; her arms were loose around him. Underneath the snowdrop touch of her healing fingertips she thought she felt she slightest movement, a thump, in his chest, covered by bone and layers of skin and muscle. Ulquiorra barely stirred and she thought she heard him mumble something into his pillow:

"Too cold. Too warm. Glad to leave." He swallowed, his bloodied chest heaving. There was a last vestige of departing panic in his eyes and he reached out a hand. "Aizen-sama!"

Orihime had forgotten how secretly terrified he must have been until this point. She, too, had seen the truth about all Arrancar: created out of fear and despair, only Aizen had been their hope and salvation. Only he, the one who had helped create them so, could assuage their panic with a calm word or gesture. And she realized that that was where Aizen got his great power.

She placed a palm on the sides of his cheeks, forcing him to keep his gaze on her. "Aizen's not here, Ulquiorra-san. Only me. I'll make the way over easier for you. Just keep looking at me."

Ulquiorra made a strange sound in the back of his throat. His hand fell against his chest and his eyes closed.

There was no more fear in the room.

----

The window to this particular room of Urahara's shop was very small, hardly more than a slit out to the world beyond. The smattering of visible stars, no different than the stars in Hueco Mundo, peeked through the window like eyes through a keyhole. Orihime did not want to look down at the one who lay next to her in the futon, still in her arms as he was slowly undone and his breath grew shallower and shallower, so she peered back.

She liked the stars; she was named after one, after all. If there was anything she could be thankful to her parents for aside from giving her the spark of life and a wonderful brother, it would be her name. Why had they done it, her distracted, bruised mind wondered—Sora had said her parents were not poetically minded. They had not really wanted her or her brother.

Why did they give her the name?

As she pondered this mystery, it seemed to her that the stars in the small window-space were magnifying, growing closer and huge in her eyes. Surely they were not being magnified by any tears, for she felt that tonight she had no more tears to shed for anyone right now, especially not herself. And Ulquiorra would not appreciate being cried over. No doubt he'd see it as an insult. No, she couldn't be crying. The stars were just growing larger in her imagination, a flight of fancy. . .

But then again, Sora had always told her that tears shed for someone else magnified a person's soul, made them bigger inside. Tears shed for yourself, because you were sorry for yourself and moping and sulky, they made you smaller inside.

Orihime felt her own soul was getting too big for her flesh to contain. Her cheeks were hot. She felt like she was floating out of her body.

And now the stars were flying by her at a fantastic rate. Perhaps she should have been alarmed, but she was not. It was perfectly natural to be speeding across space and time with her feet touching nothing solid underneath them. Was she not a star herself? This place was home.

The sound of rushing water made her crane down her neck to look underneath her feet. A glittering river flowed below and it brought the hint of a salty smell to her nose. Orihime noticed how fast the bright wave caps hurried on, how deep the river seemed as it hurtled stars in its wake.  
Glancing at the river made her a little sad. She did not know why. Perhaps the glittery points reminded her of tears. Her own eyes felt sore behind their lids. Had she been crying before?

No longer was she flying of her own accord, but instead Orihime found her sandaled feet and her legs, covered by an elaborate green kimono decorated in most delicate gold embroidery, were stepping on the backs of colorful birds over the water. A closer inspection made her giggle. The birds were none other than her Shun Shun Rikka—she recognized the patterns on their backs. They cawed and chirped each time she stepped on them. She could tell which one was Tsubaki because he always buzzed at her like an angry magpie when he had to bear the weight.

Then her care slipped and her foot did not land on the next bird (it looked like Ayame) properly and Orihime's stomach buoyed up in her plummeting body. She was falling through space, everything wheeling about crazily around her, before she hit the starry waves. Above her she could hear Tsubaki screech down at her: "That's what you get or breaking your promise to yourself!"

"You promised! You promised!" the other birds chorused.

Salt water filled her mouth and nose, but she was not afraid. It didn't feel like drowning at all. She could breathe just fine, just like a fish. Orihime felt a strange calmness seize her body, serenity in the knowledge that this mistake would be somehow rectified so fortifying that she simply spread her robed arms and legs and floated. She would get out of this. She would just give herself to the waters.

An arm suddenly broke down from the surface above, its white fingers grasping her shoulders and pulling her upwards. Orihime nearly lost her balance on the new ground rocking beneath her feet.

She was in a skiff of some sort, its prow cutting across the remaining distance of starry water with ease. Orihime turned her head to watch a cloaked figure sitting in the skiff's middle work the oars. She might have wondered why her weight seemed to not be unbalancing the vessel in any way, but she was quietly resigned to the fact that there was no real physical logic to be found here. There were more important things to consider.

"Sit down, lady," said the cowled man, rowing gamely away, "your standing will not make this skiff go faster. Sit down and rest."

Orihime did so.

In her new vantage point she could see past the folds of the head covering to gaze upon her boatman's face: it was pale, dominated by two sad green eyes with black tear marks down the cheeks. Once again she felt no alarm. This was perfectly natural. He was her ferryman, the one she had seen many times before, and he felt like an old friend. His eyes penetrated deep into her. Orihime smiled in greeting.

"The river's very deep this year," Ulquiorra said in that mournfully factual voice of his. "You have been very distracted. You will cause it to overflow one of these times if you are not careful."

"I had much to think about," she replied. After Orihime made a quick inspection of her deep green sleeves to make sure she was truly not soaking wet—which she wasn't—she smiled once more at her companion, then lifted her head to watch the magpies circle overhead. They were still cawing like mad, calling out to her.

A drop of rain splashed onto her upturned face.

"You couldn't even let the magpies take you over," Ulquiorra chided. "You are just lucky I was here to help you."

"And I'm thankful for that," she reassured him. "I just have been thinking, that's all."

"You distract yourself too much. You let your loneliness get the better of you. And then you always need to come back over to the other bank, and it just wearies us both. You do not know how you want it to be."

Orihime leaned back against the stern end of the little skiff with a cluck of her tongue and listened to the warped wood creak with every rock of the oars. It reminded her of the shuttle-song of a loom—a very homey sound, the sound of her purpose. When was the boatman ever so talkative?

"Actually, that was just what has been distracting me. How I want it to be, that is."

"Really? And you're not just going to go back and forth like always?"

"No. I think I know what I have to do now."

"And that is?"

Orihime let her hand fall into the water. The magpies were hovering closer now, as if wanting to share in the secret conversation. "Once we reach the other bank, I will not be coming back this way again. I'm staying over there. I am tired of all this separation; nothing gets resolved. I need to do something about it. I'm tired of living like this. I no longer want to be a princess.

"Maybe I'll become the rain, or I'll sing down the birds and let them help me make more bridges!" Orihime threw back her head and laughed with happy abandon; the rain tasted sweet in her mouth and she drank a mouthful down. "Maybe both. When I'm not a princess, everything will be open to me. I will not be lonely again. You know, it never occurred to me that I could just stop holding myself back and do what I wanted. Princesses really don't have many opportunities, do they? All we can do is regret what we aren't allowed to do. But once I get over there on that bank, it can all start again."

Ulquiorra nodded. The beat of the oars had never changed once. "If that is how you wish it. Just mind that you do not break this promise you to yourself this time."

"I'm getting better with promises," she assured him.

For a long bout of time there were no other words, leaving only a comfortable silence between them. Orihime simply watched Ulquiorra row with a purpose; he always seemed so sure in himself and in what fate had in store for him. There was something admirable about that. Yes, she could definitely learn a thing or two from him.

At last the skiff came to shallow waters and Ulquiorra drew up the oars. The boat drifted a few more seconds and, just as they both expected, they were almost about to hit the other bank.

"This is the last time we meet, then," said the boatman. The skiff bumped against the shore and he got out dragging it up the rest of the way by its chain. "You have no more need of me. My job is done. I do not think we will ever speak or see each other again."

Orihime could only laugh at the moroseness in his voice, sensing one final challenge in it—he was always challenging her—and she leaned over to kiss his cool lips once. "No! Barriers and illusions are my specialty. There's no distance, no loneliness I can't cross now. And what we've done together, nothing can make me forget. Every time the rain falls or the river overflows, I'll think of you and there you'll be. Nothing can keep you, or anyone else, from me. Goodbye!"

The boatman nodded his approval at her, looking almost pleased. Her hand slipped from his farewell grip, gently sliding across the skin of the palm that had no creases all the way to the tips of his fingers before their hands parted.

With one final smile Orihime turned away and started walking away from the shore. The sweet rain continued to fall. The magpies swooped down in close and suddenly turned into a wreath of flowers that settled in her hair. In the distance she thought she could hear the clacking of a loom.

She had passed and gone through this place many times before. Now she was here to stay. Here she knew she would finally find what she had sought for after so many tears and so much wanting.

_How do you want it to be?_ She knew the first time she had heard those words was not from Ulquiorra's, but it was in his voice they came.

When she awoke, Ulquiorra, utterly maskless and his dried skin cracking into dust, was no longer breathing.

He had died in his sleep.

----

She did not know what to think. All Orihime could do the rest of the passing hour was watch the shell of Ulquiorra's former physical manifestation crumble away into nothing but dust against her blankets.

Sitting up on the borrowed futon, Orihime let the final grains sift through her fingers and she wiped her hands together, then brushed them against her knees. So much needed to be done, the future inscrutable and heavy with what she knew she had to do eventually, and there was so much that should have seemed insurmountable. She knew her name was probably mud with the Soul Society bigwigs, the war was not yet fought, and there were no more dreams and fairy-tale fantasies of prince Ichigos in pantaloons. She had clung to them so desperately before Hueco Mundo; now they were gone.

Having seen what she had seen and having felt what she had felt in that horrible place, her fantasies did not have the power that they used to. They had been taken from her.

Ah well. She should have learned she had no power over human hearts anyway. All she could do was love others; that didn't promise anything. She had loved her parents, once, she was sure; they hadn't wanted her love. Sora had loved her back; he was gone. She loved Kurosaki-kun; he had been asleep when she told him. For all of her talk to him of lifetimes of love and food and astronauts, she may as well have been talking to the wall.

But never in the longest time had she felt so hopeful for success. She knew what she had to do; nobody else but she could deal with the hougyoku like she could, if only somehow her powers could develop and deepen. Despite all her training with both Yoruichi-san and Kuchiki-san, her abilities were beyond their help. But she knew what to do. She would see Hacchi-san again, that's what she'd do. He was the only one like her Orihime knew. She was certain he could help her.

She would find her true purpose. And not all love was in vain—that was one thing she knew to still be true.

To love and desire _rightly_—now that had given her better results.

Was how she would have liked things to be the same as what she really_wanted?_

"Inoue-san, are you awake? How are you doing?"

It was Ishida's voice. Orihime sat up straight, a bit jolted by surprise.

Once she beckoned for him to come on in, he stepped over the doorframe, a tray with a single-serving tea set balanced on his fingertips so artfully it was as if he were not carrying it with him at all, he moved so freely. Ishida-kun was as poised as she ever saw him; if it hadn't been for the small hitch in his throat when he swallowed, Orihime thought he would have had no compunctions about coming in here alone into a girl's room at all. Much time had passed since they last saw each other—the brief reunion at Las Noches didn't count for a lot, in her opinion, since survival had been of the essence and everything had been so intense and moved so fast.

Now what could she say to him? After so long, Ishida-kun deserved a proper greeting and thank-you. She just did not know how to broach it.

She had fixed him up as best she could but his much-suffering cape was spattered with dried blood, his cuffs ragged and missing buttons (it must have taken him so long to make the stitching even on such wide cuffs, Orihime was somewhat pained to note). It was apparent that he, too, had not gotten the benefit of changing his clothes for whatever crazy thing Urahara might have on hand. She guessed he felt bloodstained dignity was better than having to wear a Hawaiian shirt and Urahara's spare hat and clogs.

"What happened to the Arrancar?" he asked slowly. "We felt his reiatsu fade."

"Ulquiorra, Ishida-kun. He's gone. I think he's just a normal spirit now." Orihime gazed down at the hands that had taken away Ulquiorra's Hollow-based identity. "I think he was afraid to go. But I hope I helped him enough to move on."

And yet she had to smile. Ishida-kun looked much better now, healthier and refreshed for another day, echoing back her own triumphs at her. Yes, Ishida-kun was truly a lovely person, the simple proof of his friendship just by being here able to calm her lingering doubts.

It was not until his presence returned to her that Orihime realized how much she had missed him. Of all her dearest friends, she had been separated from him the longest, courtesy of his father's training. Her despair and yearning for Kurosaki-kun had managed to cover up the very top of the hole Ishida-kun's absence had worn inside her, but seeing him here made that covering crash down deep inside. She did not know whether to laugh or cry to see him at last safe and sound, see him—

"Inoue-san, are you all right? Do you need to lie down?" He was frowning a pinched frown, the kind he used when she could tell he wanted to seem less worried than he really was, and she beamed at him.

"Oh yes, I'm fine. I'm sorry, Ishida-kun. I was just thinking—" she was about to blurt out just exactly what was on her mind but she suddenly thought that maybe some judicial editing was needed. She did not want to make Ishida-kun uncomfortable, after all. She had been rather careless with him at times in the past, she thought; nothing horrible, really, she never made fun of him, but she knew how easily flustered her friend could get.

Her dear friend. Just as dear as Tatsuki-chan, Kurosaki-kun, Sado-kun, Kuchiki-san, and even Abarai-kun, who knew her the least well but who had still respected the others' friendship with her to get hurt for her sake. Orihime never felt more blessed.

No one had better friends than she did. No one! And that was the greatest comfort to her now.

If the ability to transform fear into loyalty was Aizen's great power, then the ability to take her pain and dashed dreams and form them into something beautiful was hers. It had been the reason she survived.

"—I was just thinking about how good it is to see you again!" she said. "It's been too long, I really missed you. But just look at you! You look good! I love that outfit, even if it's a bit worn now; I bet it was really something before that awful Espada made a mess of everything. Such fine stitching—I can tell you made it yourself." Orihime grimaced as the recollection hit her hard, dispelling the calm haze of purpose the dream had instilled around her. Now it was back to work. She had to take better care of her precious people now.

Ishida's throat made a weird little croak upon Orihime's gently touching his abused stomach, patting the outside of the fine Quincy material. Ishida-kun always chose wonderful cloth for his outfits. She poked around with a quick prod of her forefinger.

"Your stomach is all better now, right Ishida-kun? I hope it healed it right. No pangs? No gas or anything? I'm just sorry you had to go through that . . . I swear, I wish I could have gotten my hands on that awful Espada for what he did to you and Abarai-kun. I'd give him what-for! I'd send him to the moon! I'd let Tsubaki-kun sting out his _eyeballs!_ I'd—"

She was muttering to herself, too caught up in her own righteous indignation to take note of how Ishida's stomach muscles had clamped up so that he wasn't twitching at all underneath her prodding, nor did she catch the half-giggling, half-choking noises stuck in his throat until his large hand closed over her wrist to stop the assault. She had to smile. Ishida-kun was ticklish! She had to file that away for later use. He giggled so rarely and she found it adorable when he did.

"Inoue-san! I'm fine, really. My stomach is fine. And the others, they're all fine thanks to you and Tessai-san. Everyone is upstairs, about to have breakfast. Yoruichi-san oversaw the cooking, so it should be safe to eat. We just wanted to make sure you were awake. Are you up to eating? Maybe you should have some tea first."

"I'm glad," Orihime said, her body laid back against the futon and pillows as she accepted the filled cup. "I'd hate to have done what I've done and still have people hurting because of me. You said everyone was all right?"

Ishida assured her once more that the situation in the Urahara shop was as normal as could be expected under the present circumstances. Kurosaki was as brash as usual, even if a bit subdued--luckily, Kuchiki-san was always ready with a kick to the head. Urahara had put Renji in charge of keeping the Desert Brothers and Nel in line, since the whole shop was a cornucopia of novelties for them. Sado was also rather subdued and not talking about what he had experienced in Hueco Mundo, but his physical health was good and he was responsive and enough like himself that neither Urahara nor Yoruichi seemed overly worried. Nevertheless, it gave Orihime enough pause for her to set down her half-finished teacup. Ishida asked her if that was all she would drink.

"I'll finish it," she promised. She bit her lip, eyes turning down in acknowledgment of the aftershocks going through her. "I'm only sorry that everyone went through so much just to help me. It was a rough time for everyone, wasn't it? Everything's changing so quickly, and it was all so intense there…and there's so much left to be done. This whole mess and the Winter War have just made so many problems for everyone." She coasted her finger around the cup's rim. "But if I've learned anything, Ishida-kun, is that no one can escape from troubles. I'll just have to do my best to cheer you, Kurosaki-kun, and Sado-kun up. The others too, if they need it. At least we're still here and alive…we have the chance to make the second time go better."

That was true, Ishida admitted to her; they lowered their voices unconsciously, just as if they were hiding together in Soul Society once more. He wasn't looking forward to facing his father again, but once he was rested up he would have to do it. He wanted to get it over with.

"I'm sure it won't be so bad, Ishida-kun," Orihime assured him. "He's your father. He didn't let you go to help me just so he could kill you when you got back!"

A snort. "You don't know my father." When she saw that nothing she could say to him would erase that sour look on his face, Orihime thought it best not to press the issue. She instead let her hand fall on top of his long fingers to give them a good squeeze. She wanted him to know her confidence in his chances and abilities. Ishida cleared his throat, straightened out his slightly skewed glasses (she supposed she hadn't healed them quite exactly to fit perfectly back on his face).

"What I don't get," he continued past the finger bisecting his nose and obscuring his flushed cheeks, "is why Kurosaki's been acting even more strange than usual ever since we got back. He should be happier than anyone; he fought all the good fights and found you first. He always wins in the end but it never seems good enough. Frankly, it's just infuriating. He saves everyone and yet it doesn't satisfy him."

Ishida-kun, as she had noticed over the time they interacted together, did not fume like a normal teenager when he mulled over unpalatable information. His face instead grew bitterer than any sixteen year old's had a right to become and he became all indignant angles in his posture. Orihime had a feeling that she could comfort him in this, at least. She pressed her fingers over his a second time.

"It wasn't Kurosaki-kun who picked me up and helped me get through the hole I made in the barrier, Ishida-kun. I think you're a real hero for doing that for me."

Now if that didn't do the trick! The red tinge on her classmate's cheeks returned, then paled once more and now that his glasses were fixed he had no place to hide. "I wanted to help you," he mumbled. Then, as if casting for something else to raise his ire (she was beginning to think if Ishida-kun didn't _enjoy _an occasional bitter moment now and then), he turned his face to look more directly at her.

"Is it true what the Espada said about Kurosaki wanting to go rescue Kuchiki-san before getting to you?"

Orihime wished he would use Ulquiorra's full name. He wasn't just 'the Espada' or 'the Arrancar' to her. "Ulquiorra. And I'm afraid it was true. He was too satisfied with himself when he said it."

"Damn Kurosaki. That just makes it even worse. He shouldn't have done that."

"Perhaps," Orihime said. There was a slight pang in her chest, but it was not nearly as bad as she thought it would be. It was as if remnants of her dream lay deep inside her, ready to cool the scars still throbbing she acquired in that horrible place. It was no fantasy. "But I guess it's understandable. Rukia is a wonderful person and no doubt she really was hurt. Kurosaki-kun loves her more than he does me, after all. I'm sure it was very hard for him. And yet he still came for me. Now that's something!"

The expression he gave her made Orihime hide her face behind her palm to giggle. Ishida-kun looked utterly zombified, jaw slack and mouthing around empty air, eyes wide.

He recovered fast. "I'm sorry, Inoue-san." Eyes equally wide now, she asked him how come. That made him fluster a bit. "Because, Inoue-san…one has to be sensitive to your…ah, feelings…"

Goodness, she must have been utterly stupid with love if even Ishida-kun was struggling to be gentle and tactful with her. Orihime's giggles actually became a laugh; the burning inside her was cooled some more. It was nice to be able to laugh at oneself.

"Oh, Ishida-kun, you're so considerate. But I'm not a complete ninny! I won't say it doesn't hurt, but I'm actually surprised that it isn't worse than it is. Trust me, I can deal with _this! _They say you can learn more from your bad experiences than the good sometimes, and if I can't learn anything from an experience as bad as Hueco Mundo then even I wouldn't consider myself worth a darn! And I'm worth at least two darns, you know! Why look, I'm babbling so much, I must right on the road to recovery!"

Her breath was getting squeaky and hitched, a sure sign that her head would start spinning with any old fancy. Ishida-kun's presence grounded her; he was looking at her with great sympathy. Orihime took in a great big gulp of hair, expelled it slowly, let her heart-rate cool down.

"Like I said, you're very kind, Ishida-kun. I know that as long as I live, I'll love Kurosaki-kun. But learning to let love evolve into something else isn't the same as losing it. It may feel similar at times, but the result is not different. I don't think I've lost anything." She finished her tea and set the cup carefully aside, not unlocking her eyes from his. Orihime didn't really know why she suddenly felt the need to confide everything to Ishida-kun, but she trusted him with this. He was here and ready to listen; why pass up his own gift?

"In fact, I'd say I've learned how to do things better. Perhaps things may not be how I would have _liked_ them to be; but I'm learning how to wish for the right things now."

Suddenly seized by impulse, heartened by her friend's quietude and her own desire to bring him further encouragement and hope, she leaned in a little towards him. "Would you care to hear one final thought, Ishida-kun? Then I'll let you put in a word edgewise, I promise."

He nodded, throat bobbing up and down once. He really was so adorable when he tried to keep his cool in situations like this!

"I wish you'd stop comparing yourself so much with Kurosaki-kun, Ishida-kun. A healthy rivalry is all well and good, but I can tell you myself that comparing yourself does you no good. I learned that the hard way. Kurosaki-kun has so many lovely points, but the last time I looked he couldn't sew so pretty as you can, he's never been at the top of the class, and he just isn't a great Quincy like you. In everything that you are, Ishida-kun, I think that you are incomparable. And—thank you for the tea."

Out of habit she had bowed her head towards him in gratitude; when she raised her face she saw that Ishida-kun had turned his away. She asked if there was something wrong, if she had offended him or if there was a bug on the wall. It took him several long moments to respond.

"It's I who thank you, Inoue-san." This turn around his hand covered hers; Orihime could feel the tension threading through his fingers as they fought to keep from accidentally crushed her own hand in their grip. "It means a lot to me."

Pure, genuine pride and happiness, not simply the possibility of its prospect but the actual emotion itself, flooded through the girl's chest. She felt almost as if in another cool, refreshing dream. No doubt pain and troubles would come again, knowing what she had to do, but this was incredibly fortifying. To help in any way she could to bring aid to others and let their relief replenish her own self—there was nothing like it! No one was dearer than Ishida-kun and her other friends.

"Do you think you would like to get breakfast? It should be done by now," he said, finally looking at her with the question in his eyes. Food sounded delicious. Orihime hoped the others had used potatoes of some kind in the meal, or at least would supply a good stick of butter to coat things in; she needed her dairy. And there would be nothing lovelier to see the others alive and healthy, if not a little worse for wear. She had full confidence in everyone's ability to see this through. She would help make it so. She could make the barriers smooth and passable for others.

"Yes, let's go and talk to the others, Ishida-kun! And then I need to get some new clothes…and your handsome outfit needs to be sewed up and fixed. We can do it together! And maybe we can see if we can't alter this dress any. It's got a bit too much material for me…"

Orihime let Ishida help her to her feet, which had been a good idea on her part because Orihime found that her legs were still rather wobbly from her ordeals and strange sleep. And his assistance came none too soon—there was a sudden pounding on the door and a familiar lisping child's voice from the other side demanded why Ishida-kun was taking so long and if he and Hime-chan were making babies in there or what and if they were, could she see the babies? Then another voice wailed that he thought Ishida had loved _him _and if this was the end and if it was could they at least name one child Peshe in his memory and give him some comfort in his loneliness. Orihime didn't get what was going on, but only blinked when Ishida clamped his teeth together to hiss that Peshe would be lucky if he even got a cat corpse in biology lab named after him.

Orihime just smiled and said that Ishida-kun had made some funny friends.

"I'll introduce you to them over breakfast, I guess, if Urahara-san insists on keeping them around. I can't believe he hasn't kicked them out yet. But we have to talk and make more plans," he grumbled. His hand still held hers as they went to the door.

Yes. There was much catching up to do; that meant seeing everyone upstairs and then going to visit Tatsuki (she just hoped the yelling would be kept to a minimum, but Tatsuki-chan got a bit pushy when she was out of the loop). She still had plans to go back to Hacchi-san; Orihime also knew that one day soon, perhaps sooner than she might like, she would have to go back for the hougyoku. She doubted her friends would approve of that.

Yet how she and her friends would have liked things was not necessarily how things should be. And that was her deepest desire, the thing she _wanted _most of all.

To finally let things be as they should be!

It was a very simple wish, she thought. It was a pity more people didn't seem to want it like that. Everyone wanted it their own way, she felt, whether it was Aizen trying to create beings trapped inside their own fear for his own aggrandizement or else it was a society of souls that did not know how to change with grace.

When she came to the door, Orihime could not resist one last glance at the futon where Ulquiorra had passed on from existence as an Arrancar. She could feel his warming skin against her back. She saw the hole in his neck close up, the pallor of his skin wash out.

He hadn't gotten what he had wanted, either. Wherever he was and whatever shores he sailed for on his chosen current, all Orihime knew for certain was that Ulquiorra was in her thoughts and memories alone at this very moment of her life and she doubted very much he would ever return to Aizen's side again. Gratitude filled her up. She could not help the tear that slid out of one eye down her cheek. Silently her companion's thumb reached up and brushed it away, following the course of the salty stream.

The boatman rows, the girl weaves on the loom, and the rain falls.

Orihime could think of much worse things that could have happened to them both.

**This is not the End**

_Notes: This is all just an exercise in wishful thinking. But since it's going to be until 2120 until Kubo (having been changed into an immortal robot by fabulous Japanese technology) finishes Bleach, I just wanted to write a story about how I would LIKE things, as they are, in Hueco Mundo to pan out._

_Basically it's just me trying to give poor Orihime her props. Kubo (and fans!) seem to like to put her through all hell. I really think she's a great character. I love all the Bleach main characters, but Orihime's good nature really appeals to me. And for all the pain he's putting her though now, I think Kubo will eventually do right by her. She may be struggling now, but I hope that soon Orihime is going to fire Tsubaki with some good results. She'll come around, I think; Kubo may just have to break her down before building her back up again. I do feel bad for her luck, though, and so I wrote this to make myself feel better about Orihime's chances. _

_Also, as concerning the pairing issue, as you can probably deduce, my own hopes for Ichigo and Orihime getting together are dim. It's not that I have anything against the pairing; people can choose what they like. This is just based on my own conclusions of what I've seen of the Orihime and Ichigo interactions. Ichigo just doesn't seem to be coming around and Orihime knows she's too dependent on him. Something needs to give. And I think it's going to be Orihime who changes—and hopefully, if Kubo is worth a ding-dong damn, she'll change for the better. And yes, I must admit: I do love the Ishida and Orihime interaction in the manga, yes I do. I won't say it's set in stone, but if you can read some hinted future romance in the last part of this story…well, it was intentional. I think the potential is still there. But I'm not dogmatic. Still, like I said; this is how I would like it to be. _

_Actually, that's a filthy lie! I do want some more Ulquiorra and Orihime tension/interaction in the manga; their relationship is an odd one, but interesting. And of course, I'd actually want a big fight between Ulquiorra and SOMEone (I don't know who exactly) with all the bells and whistles! I'm predicting that, sadly, Ulqi is not going to survive the manga's end, but I don't think Kubo will off him until we see Ulquiorra's release form. _

_I hope that you enjoyed my story. I know Orihime might seem a bit off, but the current manga Orihime is not the ditzy Orihime of the beginning. She's changing. She's got more depth than some might suspect. And it's my own hope that Kubo does right by her and not make her evil or change into the rain or some other weird symbolic crud. Orihime's going to turn out all right. And I'm sure that whoever is by her side at the end will make her happy._


End file.
